


ocean

by addictedtoacertainlifestyle



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Smut, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Stream of Consciousness, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, this is nothing but sweet smut i cannot explain it any other way
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:07:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23965891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/addictedtoacertainlifestyle/pseuds/addictedtoacertainlifestyle
Summary: Can you feel it? How you’re just stardust? Pulling towards him just like you always have, finding your home within him.
Relationships: Ben Solo | Kylo Ren/Reader, Ben Solo/Reader, Ben Solo/You
Comments: 10
Kudos: 32





	ocean

Can you feel the morning sun? How bright it is?

The waves are loud, even more so than his gentle snuffles of sleep. You listen to the lull of the ocean, the slow circle of water as it crashes to the shore and retreats back. An ancient movement, meant to last forever, until the sun ceases to shine and both of you are long gone, building roots beneath the ground. It is a reassuring thought, to be aware of something so old. It has been here before you and will be here after you.

Ben sleeps, unaware of your thoughts, sunlight blessed to dance along the slope of his back the way your fingers, your lips long to do. White cotton shirt, white cotton sheets; summer’s snow.

He’s too far apart from you like this, but you don’t dare to disturb his slumber. He looks beautiful, in the grasps of something you can’t reach. It should make you sad, how peaceful he looks without you. But you know the way he looks at you when he’s  _ with _ you; it’s even more beautiful.

The sun makes you move, pulling you towards it. You get up and loiter to the glass doors to greet the morning closer. Sand and ocean before you. You already know what the sand feels like, soft and grainy; he took you to a late evening walk along the beach when you arrived last night. Bright skies, white clouds. The hum of the waves. The wooden floorboards under your feet squeak when you move unexpectedly. For an echoing moment you stare at the ocean.

You turn to look the object of your affection and he’s awake, maybe on his own accord, maybe because of your loud thoughts. Leaning on his palms, hair in cowlicks and sleep-messy curls. Drowsy eyes still dreaming, lines from the pillow bisecting his face like an old scar. He looks otherworldly, knows things beyond the universe, building clouds and wandering the untouchable in his spare time. The secrets of high magnitudes hidden under the width of his chest and shoulders, prowess of a god in his arms. Pleasure on his lips and heaven just about everywhere else. Miles of skin begging to be kissed.

You walk back to the bed and sit your knees tucked under, just observing for a moment. Quiet second, mapping the marks of his face; two dots over his left brow, singularities next to his nose and chin. Even more when going further downwards; you know them all, have kissed them all. But it doesn’t mean you won’t do it again. His eyes ask you to.

Reaching out your hand to gently touch, like beckoning a wounded animal, slowly and with no ill intent. But he is far more graceful, far more fascinating than that in his raw, unpolished beauty – and he could never shy away from you. Your thumb follows the path under his eye where you’ve seen the twitch more than once, in the most peculiar moments. Fingertips eager to crawl into his hair, to hide into the inked strands. He pulls you closer, his lips finally slotting against yours.

It’s not chaste or remarkably pretty, but it’s alive, he’s alive, right here with you. Sheltered from the ocean wind and in this soft bed that sinks under his weight. He’s alive, reminds the beat of his heart as you set your hand over his chest. Cotton is in the way, but the mark of life can be felt through it. You let your kisses be languid, eyes closed in pure bliss, mouths seeking and finding and mapping the old ground as if it were something new, uncharted and precious. The taste of him is secondary, full of that thick molasses of sleep, dust gathering on the windowsill; the feel of him is what matters the most and it surpasses everything else.

With soft lips comes the wandering hands. He settles against the deep-dark headboard and you follow along, straddling his waist, feeling the powerful beast of a man between your thighs. His hands are like paws, for they cover so much ground, running down your arms and then back up, gently press the muscles on your shoulder blades through your own shirt.

It’s not enough, he’s not close  _ enough _ .

You kiss him in short little bursts of starlight, sipping a taste of him again and again like it’s something fine. And it is – the way he responds to your teasing, biting your lip in sweet revenge. You’re the first to let out a sound against his mouth that he devours.

Can you feel it? The way his body sings below yours? Eager to meet with yours as you move, skin seeking friction, hips finding their companions. Hands warm your waist, a secure touch keeping you grounded, but you want more. His shirt is still in the way, hiding things from your hunger that keeps on growing. Spreading like a forest fire, sparking from your fingers that tug his shirt off and away. Bursting from your mouth that lands on his collarbones. His scent deep like the ocean, safe and so very familiar. Curling in the base of your spine; a smile forms unintentionally.

A smile he sneaks to slide against his, not even really kissing, just feeling. With the stealth of a thief – and a thief he is, after your own heart like it is the most precious of jewels – he releases you from your clothing confines, until you’re both bare above the waist. Soon the need to go forth will return, but for now, it is enough, this half-lived sensation of freedom. It has its own spark, like two gods testing their limits, giggling at their audacity.

You might be hungry, but he is  _ fast _ . His mouth has its own place on your skin, finding belonging. Down your neck – slow, wet, and easy. Fingertips brush places where you first didn’t want to let him, all that time ago. Fear kept you uptight, uneasy, but he saw through it and decided to love you anyways. You slowly accepted it, how the places you dislike are the ones he loves the most. Now you just sigh and preen and bloom under his mouth and hands, revel in his touch without any shame. Marvel how it lingers firm on the soft flesh of your stomach, accompanied with a smile of pride against your shoulder. You clutch his own shoulders with your hands, press your nose to his hair and find solace there. He is keen, he is reverent, and when his mouth greets yours again you burst into silent bird-song.

Your hands wander, always touching, drawn towards him like it’s in your nature, sown into your veins and rooted in your blood to have your touch upon him. Knuckles grace his cheek, fingers dapple by his temple until the temptation becomes too much, and you brush away the hair that always shields his ears. Tip of your pointer finger traces the shell of his ear with a delicate, barely-there whisper and you hear his breath hitch. The sweetest sound.

A kiss finds its home in that same spot where your previous touch was. He responds in kind without meaning to, soft hair tickling your lips in a kiss of its own and you chuckle, sending shivers up his spine. One more kiss to the delicate, soft skin, then a nibbling of your teeth _ just because _ ; a silent call in which he answers with his hand squeezing your thigh, thumb gently caressing back and forth. His breathing warms your neck, lips dangerously close to your skin. 

His hand begins to drift, just a little higher up, where all you feel is heated, hot want, and you know everything else is over from there on. Eager hands pull the rest of the clothes away with practiced practicality.

Like the ocean, like the waves that move in tune with the silent rhythm of the earth, you move against him, teetering on the edge of desperation. All bared and his to own.

Dexterous fingers have mapped this part of you many times, know how to touch you even in this bright light. It’s easy, it’s simple, when you want him as much as you do, dripping and needy for him even when he’s barely just started. His thick finger slips and curls inside you, giving you exactly what you want but not enough for you to come so fast. He kisses your neck and the rough pad of his thumb presses hard, making you starry-eyed and breathless. Pressure begins to build, down low, something tense and utterly delicious.

_ Please, Ben, please _ , you whisper, grind against him slowly, in this maddening dance where he leads and you follow. The itch is born in the deep, brought into the surface. He hears your call, faster and faster. Your eyes won’t stay open anymore, finding your way easier in the dark. From the soil in the ground, rising towards the sun, your pleasure grows. His kisses follow down your neck as his fingers finally find the place you’d been looking for.

Right before the fall, there’s the moment where everything stops. Your breath hitches and your eyes open, and then… Nothing. Nothing but you, him and this outburst. Like a tide, it’s quickly washed away, but the high that remains keeps your head in the clouds.

_ There we go, that’s my girl _ , he murmurs, a rumble drawn from the depths of his chest. His other hand rubs your thigh, to soothe the ripples, the trembles of your pleasure. You shiver, shudders of the afterglow making their way through you. 

It’s utter decadence, the way he brings his slick-covered fingers to his lips and sucks each digit, closes his eyes like it’s some fine nectar. Red blush paints your cheeks, an act of such filthy devotion makes you yearn for him even more. In his kiss you can taste yourself — like in a dream, distant and peculiar.

You’re not shy, no; your hand knows its own way, down his abdomen to cup his cock through the clothing. How his expression changes, from a teasing, satisfied smile into an open sigh of pleasure. Just feeling him — payback for what he does to you — is utterly fascinating, seeing him react. His head falls back when you’ve pulled the clothes out of the way and touch him like he’s precious, precious but needy.

For a moment, it’s your turn to own him. You know what he likes, how fast to move and how to prolong it, draw out the inevitable. You nose his collarbone, suck a mark to the side of his neck as your thumb brushes over the tip, palm squeezing the base. Once, twice, until he groans. A wild sound, a call in which you respond.  _ I’m here _ , you say with your fingertips and lips. _ I’ve got you. _

Every time, it’s like meeting the ocean. It’s overwhelming to the point of ecstasy, an exciting build-up until it takes up all the space in your lungs and you can’t breathe. But you love it, the anticipation, when you line up and slowly sink. 

He doesn’t dare to take his eyes off you.

He’s thick, he’s immeasurable, cock filling you up to the point of bursting, and then some more. All the way, every delicious inch of him snug inside you, and it’s so much. It never stops. Always a rebirth, always a moment brought anew. No words can give sense to the feeling, nothing will ever be quite like this. Your body meets his in a way that can only cause chaos, bring bliss in its wake.

You can hear the waves in this silence, how the wind has picked up and the ocean grows angry. He growls, and you feel it in your chest as if it was a sound of your own. Maybe it is. You’re all him now, the same as he is you. There’s no end to either of you, only a beginning that goes on forever.

Slowly it starts, the moving, push and pull. He curses low, hand squeezing your thigh while the other grasps the sheets. Your hands wind around his neck, your forehead against his as the wave beckons you. He reaches further each time, somehow going in deeper, thrusts up as you sink down. Like forging metal, supple and hot, changing with each blow.

New blooming is beginning to take place, but you’re not ready just yet. You’re content to just drift, gasp every time he hits that deep-rooted spot inside you, and listen to his groans. There’s a low hum, running in your nerves that’ll break you once it heightens into a crescendo.

Fuck, it’s so good, he’s _so_ good. His eyes are closed, getting lost in you, chasing things in the dark that he can’t find from the daylight. And when they open to meet yours, they tell you something he can never put into words. Solace is found, in this fundamental connection of bodies.

Can you feel it? How you’re just stardust? Pulling towards him just like you always have, finding your home within him. His nose nuzzles your cheek before he catches your lips in a kiss of tongue and teeth, slows down your hips with his insistent hands. Paused right on the edge of it all, soon ready to plummet from the skies.  _ Hold still, dear _ , he whispers in your ear, noses your hairline in a way that would usually be sweet. But you know what he looks for, from this prolonged moment of ecstasy. Bringing even more fire into this ravenous heat. He’s partly inside you, a teasing tension that makes you groan and whimper.

You’re not a stranger to pleading, and you know he loves to hear you keen and beg, voice wavering. Accompanied with hungry, desperate kisses in the corner of his mouth and cheeks,  _ Please, love, please, I need you.  _ It’s delirium, the slow decline from the high he was pulling you into — torture that’s never hurt as good. He holds you tight, fingertips pressing into the supple flesh of your thigh. The whole world in the palm of his hand, lost in the eye of the storm.

Finally, the storm breaks. He gives in to the wave, pulls you under with a force so powerful it makes you dizzy. He plummets into you, rubs hard but agonisingly slow circles, gives and takes with the force that rivals nature, and there’s nothing you can do but surrender before him. Accept it all, have it all, let it rain on you, arms wide and heart cracked open. He’ll be there to hold you close and whisper your name as the storm passes, leaving behind a burning mark.

Sometime later the hushed murmur of the ocean lulls you to sleep, sheltered and hidden in his embrace.

**Author's Note:**

> heya pals, i hope y'all are doing as well as you can :)
> 
> i've been writing this little thing for months now as a side project and finally decided it was good enough to be put out here. it was a lot of fun just to type down without restrictions and let myself be more free with the prose and the smut. i hope y'all like it too ! 
> 
> kudos and comments are like quarantine snacks to me; essential and make my day. take care of yourselves and i'll see y'all later! ヾ(＾∇＾)


End file.
